


Merry Christmas, Captain Jones

by emn1936



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emn1936/pseuds/emn1936
Summary: And so it came to be that there was only one resident of the town who had no understanding of Christmas and no knowledge of the story of Old St. Nick. This then, is the story of how Captain Hook came to believe.





	

“Merry Christmas, Captain Jones”

 

 

 

 

When the first curse brought the residents of the Enchanted Forest to Storybrooke, it robbed them of their memories and their relationships, replacing all they once knew with everything required to live life as modern day citizens of small town America.

 

Included in the vast amount of information dumped into their brains was the ability to drive, to use modern technology (well, modern less the twenty-eight year loop that hadn’t progressed beyond VCR’s or dial-up modems) and an understanding of, and fondness for any number of holidays.

 

Including Christmas. ( _Especially_ Christmas.)

 

And when the curse broke and their memories flooded back, they still embraced the use of technology and modern conveniences – quickly advancing to smart phones and data plans and Netflix – and retained that fondness for all things Christmas.

 

For mistletoe and holly. Carols and sparkling lights. Cookies and hot cocoa. And Santa.

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

Emma had stopped believing in Santa on her eighth Christmas. She had spent so many years wishing for the unattainable (a family to love) and so that year, when she wrote to Santa, she asked for something small – a pretty little trinket she had seen in a shop window (but told no one about) – knowing if she awoke to find it on Christmas morning that Santa was real and that he heard her when she wished for something.

 

And so, when the sun rose that Christmas and she found socks, underwear and a pretty little ragdoll beneath the tree at the group home instead, she knew the truth.

 

There was no Santa.

 

But now, here in Storybrooke with her son, her parents and baby brother, and with Killian at her side, she _wanted to believe_ and to her, that was a tiny miracle in and of itself.

 

 

0o0o0o0

 

Of course, Henry Mills had never once doubted the existence of Santa.  His, after all, was the heart of the truest believer.

 

He was the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming (and Rumplestiltskin… but he preferred not to dwell on that particular relationship for too long).

 

He was the adopted son of the (not-so-Evil-anymore) Queen.

 

He was the natural-born son of the Savior.

 

But the reason he believed so strongly in a jolly old elf who delivered toys to children all over the world in a flying sleigh was not because of the fantastical element of his relationships. No, it was because of the reality of the strength of the love of his family.

 

After all, he had one mother who woke up every morning and worked her hardest to be rid of the part of her that thirsted for vengeance – all for the love of him.

 

And another mother who had let him go once to give him his best chance and whose love for him was so pure and true that it was capable of breaking curses.

 

When that was the basis of the story of your life… well, he thought, believing in Santa was a simple matter.

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

And so it came to be that there was only one resident of the town who had no understanding of Christmas and no knowledge of the story of Old St. Nick.

 

This then, is the story of how Captain Hook came to believe.

 

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

It was immediately after the feast they called Thanksgiving that talk turned to the next holiday. Hook had a cursory knowledge of Christmas from the prior year, but life in Storybrooke does not often allow for celebrations. And since Emma had then still been keeping him at arms-length at times, he remained on the periphery of the muted displays of holiday cheer.

 

But things were different this year.  It was several weeks and counting since the last true emergency had reared its ugly head in town (Henry declared it a Christmas miracle; Snow curiously made the boy rap his knuckles against the closest wooden surface whenever he gave voice to such a comment.)

 

All that having been said, he awoke that Friday morning, still uncomfortably full from the gluttonous display of food served at the family Thanksgiving feast to find the town undergoing a transformation as colorful lights were strung over the eaves of the houses, ropes of greenery draped above doors and around windows. Everywhere he looked things glittered and glowed and people spoke of all manner of curious things.

 

What was a Grinch, he wondered. And just who was this Scrooge fellow people nattered on about?

 

Mostly, he kept hearing about some Santa chap who Emma and Henry described as a benevolent, magical being whose mission was to bring joy to children around the world, but privately, Killian had his doubts about anyone who would willingly consort with elves. (Whom he knew from personal experience to be tiresome vicious little creatures and nary a one he had ever met who could be bothered to look kindly upon a child.)

 

Yet people would have him believe this bloke to be the leader of a toy-making army of them!

 

More than once he heard a parent admonish their child with the threat that this Santa fellow was watching them. He simply didn’t trust a man who kept a secret journal tallying every child’s actions and wondered why others didn’t share his objections.

 

He was seated at the counter of Granny’s, listening to Snow and David yammer on to anyone within hearing distance about their plan to take their wee lad to have his likeness captured with Santa and had just opened his mouth to voice his concern when the door to the diner flew open to admit a swirl of frigid air and Emma.

 

“Brrr!” She shoved the door closed behind her and hurried toward them. Dropping to her haunches, she drew the tot’s blankets aside to press a kiss to his tiny nose before bundling him back up.

 

“Are you going to see Santa?” she asked the little boy in the sing-song voice she often employed when speaking to her baby brother.

 

The boy laughed and clapped his mittened hands together “Danta!” he exclaimed, grinning and proudly displaying two tiny white teeth.

 

“Danta!” Emma echoed back, tapping the tips of her fingers to his in a tiny high five before pushing back to her full height and hugging her parents in greeting.

 

“Swan.” Killian swiveled on his stool to greet her. “Do try to talk some sense into your parents. This Santa fellow sounds like bad news to me.”

 

She rolled her eyes toward her parents and waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, Killian. Santa’s probably not even real. (Considering the population of the town, even she couldn’t outright dismiss the possibility that Santa existed.)

 

“Besides,” she commented as she slipped onto the stool next to his and reached for the steaming mug in front of him, “the one they’re going to see is just a guy pretending to be Santa for pictures.”

 

Some man pretending to be this Santa Claus fellow, just to have children sit on his lap sounded even more disturbing to Killian than the thought of a magical, rotund elf delivering toys in a flying sleigh and he opened his mouth to voice another objection but was interrupted by Emma’s expression of disgust as she took a sip from his mug.

 

“Ugh!” she grimaced, thunking the mug onto the counter and wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. “You always steep your tea so strong, you can stand a spoon upright in it!”

 

“If you already know that to be the case, then perhaps you should stop pilfering my drink and get one of your own,” he suggested with an arched brow. Turning his head, he gestured toward the woman behind the counter.

 

“A cup of sweet chocolate for my lady, Granny,” he asked. “And do put one of those striped sticks of candy in it for her.”

 

“It’s called a candy cane, you dork.” Emma grinned and took the mug from Granny with a nod of thanks, idly swirling the candy cane through the whipped cream piled high atop the steaming mug.

 

“As if that cloyingly sweet concoction needed anything else, you have to dunk a piece of candy into it?”

 

Emma scooped up glob of cream on the end of the candy cane and popped it into her mouth.

 

“Mmmm,” she moaned, sucking the tip of the candy clean with a suggestive smile curling the edges of her lips.  “Delicious…”

 

Killian groaned and hunched over his tea, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as his body stirred to life.

 

“Drink up, love,” he muttered, “so we can make our way home quickly.”

 

“It’s two in the afternoon,” she reminded him.

 

His brow arched again as if to say “and your point is…?”

 

“I’m still on duty.”

 

He dropped his head onto the countertop with a dramatic sigh.

 

“Aye. Duty calls.”

 

She laughed and he lifted his head abruptly as a sudden thought popped to mind.

 

“As I recall, Henry is spending the night at the Queen’s.” His eyes gleamed with prurient plans and purpose. “Perhaps we can rendezvous at home at the end of the day.”

 

Emma sadly shook her head back and forth. “Sorry, but we have dinner plans at my parents’, remember?”

 

“We dine with your parents often,” he said. “Surely we can be excused on one night.”

 

Emma shot him a scandalized look over the rim of her mug. “It’s Christmas Eve!” she exclaimed. “We can’t miss Christmas Eve dinner!”

 

He nodded, hiding his disappointment. He could not relate to the holiday, but it was easy enough to recognize its importance to Emma.

 

“Of course, love.”

 

She tugged her wool beanie over her hair and slid off the stool to stand beside him. “Later,” she breathed into his ear as she affectionately rubbed her cheek against his beard. “We’ll light a fire and…” She bit her lower lip and batted her lashes flirtatiously, earning a grin from him.

 

He swiveled in his seat and reached out to one-handedly fasten the buttons of her jacket. “Best bundle up, Swan. It would not do for you to catch a cold.”

 

He watched her walk out the door, then fixed his gaze on the clock behind the counter, silently counting the hours until they could be alone.

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

Later that evening they left David’s and Snow’s in high spirits. Emma was tucked into Killian’s side, his right arm slung over her shoulders as they walked home through a light snowfall. A bag carrying Snow’s Christmas Eve gift of new pajamas for them both swung jauntily in her free hand.

 

The houses along their route were ablaze with lights, trees glowing with color visible through the windows and Emma exclaimed aloud at displays that caught her fancy as they strolled along. But for Killian, it was their own home that was the most enchanting, and as they approached, he felt a swelling in his heart that he thought might be akin to the Christmas “spirit” everyone spoke of so often, for their house was awash in magic.

 

Emma and Henry had spent days earlier in the month debating the merits of the various ways to decorate their new home. The pros and cons of colored lights versus clear lights were debated along with a thirty minute discussion of “Plastic inflatables: garish or grand?”

 

In the end, it was Killian’s quiet “why not just use your magic, love?” that made the decision. That evening, the three of them gathered outside their home, Killan’s hand resting on the small of her back, Henry tucked against her side as she raised her arms towards the heavens and drew down the starlight until their home was literally awash in Emma’s light magic. It sparkled like freshly fallen snow in the moonlight, outlining the front door, the roofline and turret, trimming each window, twining around the porch railing and up its columns.

 

Visible through the sheer curtains hanging over the windows overlooking the front porch was a ten foot spruce, glimmering with multi-colored lights and ornaments and as they walked through the door, Emma turned on the music with a graceful turn of her wrist. Holiday music – a mix of the bouncy pop tunes that she and Henry preferred and the lovely, peaceful instrumentals that were Killian’s choice – began to play through the speakers scattered throughout the house.

 

Emma turned to face him as soon as they stepped inside, sliding naturally into his embrace. Her own arm was raised over their heads and he glanced up to see her holding aloft a tiny bit of greenery with small white berries.

 

“Mistletoe,” she whispered. “It means you have to kiss me.”

 

“A tradition I will most gladly adopt,” he murmured against her lips, absorbing her sigh and she fisted her free hand into the lapel of his jacket, drawing him closer.

 

They broke apart, long minutes later, her forehead resting against his as they fought to regulate their breathing.

 

“Wait ten minutes,” she gasped. “Why don’t you get some firewood and bring it upstairs.”

 

He smiled as she evoked the memory of their first kiss and nipped at lips.

 

“Ten minutes,” he cautioned. “Not a moment more.”

 

Shrugging out of her jacket, she handed it to him and hurried up the steps.

 

Killian stood in the entryway, his gaze roving over the first floor living space and he marveled at how quickly this house had become his home. Then again, he reasoned, it was not the walls and windows and roof but rather Emma and Henry who made it home and traces of the three of them were scattered throughout the house. Henry’s X-box controller was lying on the coffee table alongside a stack of Emma’s magazines and the coffee mug she had left sitting there in the morning. The book Killian was currently reading was resting on the table next to the sofa.

 

Their shoes were jumbled on a mat just inside the front door and three stockings hung from the mantel in a tradition that mystified Killian but which excited Henry and Emma.

 

Red poinsettias bloomed in pots near the hearth, white electric candles glowed in the windows and his gaze fell on the huge bowl of colorful ornaments resting on the center of the farmhouse table in the kitchen as he passed through to collect firewood from the back porch.

 

Humming softly along with one of the instrumental carols playing over the speakers, he gathered a small armful of split logs. Stopping long enough to tuck a bottle of wine under his free arm and to snag two wineglasses between his fingers, he began the long climb up the stairs to the master suite which took up nearly the entire third floor of the house.

 

Though the downstairs was a cheerful jumble of holiday color, Emma had transformed their suite into a sparkling white winter wonderland.  A small tree trimmed with clear lights and crystal snowflakes stood on a table by the windows on the curved wall. White candles lined the mantle of the fireplace. Icy-blue knit lap blankets in a pattern reminiscent of the thick, worn, heavy cable-knit sweater she loved to snuggle into on chilly Sunday mornings were tossed over a pair of matching gray chairs situated near the hearth. The bed was mounded with white sheets and pillows and a thick silvery-gray duvet.

 

And in the center of it all, Emma stood out like a brightly colored bird against a snowy backdrop. Her hair was a gleaming waterfall of golden curls tumbling over shoulders covered in the red plaid flannel of the top of the pajamas Snow had given him, the hem of which grazed the soft white skin of her thighs and as she stripped back the covers of the bed, her head bopped and her hips swiveled in time with the bouncy song now playing over the speakers.

 

Unconscious of her audience, she did a little spin, her cheeks blushing pink as she caught sight of him.

 

“… want for Christmas is yooouuu…” Her voice trailed off with a squeak and the flush crawled down to the top of her breasts just visible between the haphazardly buttoned plackets of red flannel.

 

He set the bottle and glasses down on the top of the nearest surface with such haste, it was a wonder the delicate crystal didn’t crack and he dumped the firewood somewhere in the vicinity of the basket near the hearth.

 

“That is good news to hear, love.” His gaze never left hers as he moved closer. “As from the moment we met, you are the only thing I have wanted.”

 

“You’re e-early,” she stammered. “I didn’t have time to finish.” She gestured lamely toward the unlit candles scattered throughout the room, another squeak escaping her as he yanked her into his embrace.

 

“Then light them.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, fingers tunneling through the thick curls to toy with the delicate shell of her ear and thumb dipping into the shallow indent of her chin. Her arms wound themselves around his neck and he felt the flick of her hand near the back of his head as she illuminated the candles; sensed rather than saw the flickering light as he closed his eyes and claimed her mouth in a devastating kiss.

 

He tumbled her to the bed, following her down to cover her body with his.

 

“It’s bad form to steal a man’s attire before he has even had a chance to wear it, Swan.” The admonishment was muffled as he buried his mouth against the madly fluttering pulse beating beneath the soft skin under her jaw.

 

“Then why don’t you just take it back?” Her green eyes glinted and a suggestive smile curved her lips as she issued the challenge.

 

“Perhaps I shall.” Nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons and his eyes widened as he pushed the fabric apart to reveal what lay beneath. Her undergarment seemed to consist only of several wide, strategically placed red satin ribbons, the ends of which were gathered together in an intricate bow beneath her breasts.

 

“I thought we should establish some traditions of our own.” She lifted her head from the mattress to scrape her teeth lightly over the strong column of his throat. “And that maybe you would like to open one gift on Christmas Eve…”

 

His gaze was predatory as he toyed with the trailing ends of the bow.

 

“The pirate in me is screaming to make quick work of it.” He raised his hook, the metal gleaming in the candlelight. “But I…” His chest rose and fell as his fingers plucked restlessly at the ribbons. “I think I should like to open this gift over…”

 

She felt a tug as he pulled at one trailing end of the bow.

 

“and over…”

 

His gaze never left hers as he worked the complicated knot with skilled fingers.

 

“and over again.” 

 

He felt her shudder beneath him as the ribbons gave way and slipped to pool beneath her on the sheets.

 

“Merry Christmas, Killian.” 

 

And now it was his turn to tremble as her arms and legs wound about him in a four-limbed embrace.

 

“Merry Christmas, love.”

 

0o0o0o0

 

 

Nearly three millennia of captaining a ship filled with pirates had trained Killian to wake at the slightest hint of danger. He was stretched out on his stomach, Emma sprawled against his back, her arm draped over his torso in a loose embrace. He stared blindly toward the window illuminated only by the soft glow of the moon and strained to listen. Again, an indistinct thud coming from the first floor sounded.

 

Sliding carefully away from Emma, he sat up and drew on the plaid flannel pajama bottoms tossed near the foot of the bed. Years of practice allowed him to easily slide into the complicated harness of leather straps and buckles without the need for light. Clicking his hook into place, he debated whether to wake Emma or not.

 

Not wanting to leave her asleep and vulnerable if a new villain _had_ entered their lives, and knowing she was invaluable in a fight, he leaned over and brushed his fingers against her cheek.

 

“Emma.”

 

She wrinkled her nose, twitching away from his touch for a moment before her eyes fluttered open sleepily.

 

“’time izzit?” she slurred, blinking to clear her vision.

 

“Someone is in the house,” he breathed quietly, leaning back as she jackknifed to her feet. Without even questioning him further, she crossed the room on tiptoes to pull a t-shirt and pajama bottoms from the bureau, hurriedly covering herself.

 

Killian leaned down and retrieved his sword from its place just under the bed, quietly drawing the blade from its scabbard. Joining her near the bedroom door, he nodded and they made their way down the two flights of steps on silent feet.

 

Easing around the corner at the bottom of the steps, they saw nothing in the living or dining rooms. A noise from the kitchen caught their attention and they cautiously tiptoed toward it to peer inside. The refrigerator door was open and the only thing they could make out in the light of the appliance was the well-rounded, velvet-clad posterior of the intruder protruding from behind the open door and a pair of shiny black boots.

 

“Don’t move.” Emma stepped into the kitchen, her magic sparking at her fingertips. Killian tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and moved into place at her side.

 

The intruder rose to his full height; a ruddy-cheeked old man peered at them across the open door of the refrigerator.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” the wizened figure said. “It’s been a long night already and I still have hours to go before I finish.”

 

The elderly gentleman was dressed from top to bottom in red velvet trimmed with fur as white as his snowy beard. A shiny black belt encircled his portly waist and a pipe was clamped firmly between his teeth.

 

“S-Santa?”

 

Killian glanced toward her as she stammered in disbelief, then turned his attention back to their visitor. Even he had to admit that the old gent greatly resembled every rendering of Santa Claus that he had seen in his admittedly short exposure to the holiday.

 

“Well, I’m certainly not the Easter Bunny!”

 

Killian blinked as the old man laughed.

 

“Ho-ho!”

 

He bent at the waist and slapped his hands against his knees, endlessly amused by his own wit and Killian was mesmerized to see that the old guy’s belly did, indeed, wobble like a bowl full of the jelly-like substance he had been served in the hospital.

 

Emma quickly regained her composure and shot a look toward Killian that he interpreted as a commentary on the strangeness that was her life. Given her parentage… and considering she was living with _Captain Hook_ … how could she be surprised by the appearance of Santa Claus?

 

“Aren’t you supposed to… I don’t know… eat cookies and milk?”

 

“Well now, you didn’t leave any out for me, did you?” the old man asked with a twinkle in his eye.  “And besides, do you have any idea how many cookies I’ve already eaten tonight? I could use something with a little more substance.”

 

Santa adopted a sorrowful look, his lower lip protruding in a pout.

 

Killian rolled his eyes at the old man’s obvious ploy, shaking his head when Emma crossed the room to nudge the elderly elf away from the refrigerator.

 

“How about ham and cheese?” she asked after taking inventory of the contents of the fridge.

 

“Do you have any of that spicy mustard?” the old man asked hopefully.

 

Killian gestured the old fellow to take a seat at the table and then flopped into an empty chair, placing himself between Emma and their uninvited guest, casually spinning the sword on its tip against the wooden planks of the floor. His pose was relaxed, but his eyes were on guard and his grip on the sword unwavering.

 

Emma quickly assembled a sandwich and poured a tall glass of milk, placing both before their unexpected visitor. Despite the people who surrounded her on a daily basis, it was obvious to Killian that she couldn’t help but be in awe of the idea of Santa Claus sitting at her table, wolfing down a ham sandwich.

 

“Delicious,” the old man declared and belched delicately into the fist pressed against his mouth.

 

He rose with a groan and hitched his belt more comfortably around his plump belly.

 

“Thank you. That hit the spot, but I best be going. I still have a lot of miles to cover before my night is over.” He politely carried his plate and empty glass to the sink before trudging from the room. Emma and Killian hurried to follow.

 

“I left a few things for your boy under the tree,” Santa said as he bent over the large sack resting on the floor near the hearth. “But, I have a little something for you as well, Emma.” Rummaging through the velvet bag, he pulled out a small box.

 

“I intended for you to have this over twenty years ago,” he told her. “But you moved right before Christmas and, I’m sorry to say, my records were not updated in time.” He placed the box in her hands and wrapped warm fingers around hers.

 

“And after that, your heart was closed off to me and I was never able to find you again.” He tipped his head to one side and his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I hope you will accept it from me now.”

 

Emma clutched the box against her chest and nodded her thanks.

 

“Merry Christmas.” Santa hefted the bag over his shoulder and took a step toward the fireplace.

 

“Wait!” Emma called out as he stepped onto the slate hearth. Stopping, he turned and looked back.

 

“Would you… could you…”

 

Killian looked toward her in surprise as he heard an uncharacteristic note of shyness creep into her voice.

 

She tapped her finger against the side of her nose and Santa let out a belly laugh, nodded and then… laying a finger aside of his nose, up, up the chimney he rose.

 

Killian grinned as Emma clapped a hand against her mouth and together they rushed to the window as a scraping nose could be heard from the roof. Pushing back the curtain, he curved an arm around her shoulder and they watched Santa lift a hand in a wave as the sleigh made a lazy arch around their house.

 

“That was…” Emma took a step back and shook her head, words failing her as she rested her cheek against Killian’s shoulder.

 

“Are you not curious to see what gift he left you?” He gently tapped the curve of his hook against the package in her hands.

 

“Oh… yeah.” She fumbled a moment, tearing away the limp ribbon and paper that had faded with age and gently lifted a snow globe from the box, holding it aloft in the soft light of the tree.

 

“Oh my God.”

 

Killian laid a gentle hand on her shoulder when tears sprang to her eyes.

 

“What is it, love?”

 

“I saw this in a store when I was eight years old,” she told him. “I wrote to Santa asking for it and when I didn’t get it, I… I thought it meant that the other kids were right and that Santa wasn’t real.”  She sniffed and sagged against his shoulder. “But he’s had it all this time.”

 

Killian dropped a kiss onto the crown of her head and took the snow globe from her hands. Giving it a gentle shake, he thought there was something oddly familiar about the tiny scene trapped under the glass as he watched the snow giddily tumble and swirl before softly settling on the bottom.

 

“You saw this in a shop when you were a child?” He peered through the glass dome intently. “Swan,” he said slowly, as she nodded her cheek against his shoulder. “Do you not recognize what this is?”

 

Emma’s shoulders rose and fell on a careless shrug. “Not really,” she said slowly. “I just thought it was pretty.”

 

“Love, this is a nearly perfect miniature of your parents’ castle in the Enchanted Forest.”

 

She snatched the globe from his hand and peered through the glass.

 

“Oh. My God,” she breathed shakily. “It is… it’s… But, how?”

 

She tipped her head back and looked up at him in wonder.

 

“Magic,” he smiled softly, tenderly thumbing away a tear that trembled beneath her lashes. “I would say that you have been looking for them all of your life, even as a child, and you simply did not know.”

 

“Not just my parents,” she said, studying her parents’ realm trapped under the glass dome. “You too. Look.”

 

A watery laugh escaped her as she held the globe aloft and then he saw it – a miniature Jolly Roger on the horizon behind the tiny castle.

 

“I’ve been looking for all of you my entire life.”

 

Clutching the gift in both hands, she turned into his arms and tucked it between them for safekeeping. They stood quietly for several long moments, bathed in the soft glow of the tree lights and simply enjoying the quiet of the night.

 

“Come love,” he finally whispered. “We’ve still a few hours of sleep left to us before Henry and the rest of your family arrives to break their fast with us.”

 

She snuggled closer to his warmth, rubbed her cheek like a contented cat against the soft hair covering his chest before nodding in agreement and following him toward the stairs.

 

“Merry Christmas, Killian.”

 

Setting the snow globe on the table near the bed, she curled up under the blankets against his side and quickly fell back to sleep.

 

Gently winnowing his fingers through her long curls, Killian laid awake for some time, marveling at the miracle that was his life. The soft sound of bells jingling drew his attention to the tall window on the rounded wall of their room. Through the glass he saw the distant shape of a sleigh arching across the brilliant white of the moon and in his head he heard a rumbling chuckle.

 

“Merry Christmas, Captain Jones,” came Santa’s voice.  “Merry Christmas.”

 

End

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of things: 
> 
> I'm late posting this, but it's still technically the holiday season so I think it counts.
> 
> Also, I have no idea of how old Baby Neal is in the show timeline. 
> 
> And, I obviously, borrowed some imagery from "A Visit From St. Nicholas"/"Twas the Night Before Christmas"


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